


Balm of Life

by burymeonpluto



Series: Descent [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dealing With Trauma, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Vague References to Past Abuse, but they greatly enhance the experience, can be read without the previous parts, mostly fluff tho, past relationship, seriously this is real soft, we've reached the healing stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeonpluto/pseuds/burymeonpluto
Summary: The past never goes away. You have to live on in spite of it. Both Riku and Vanitas are trying their best, and sometimes just trying is enough.





	Balm of Life

  
  
  
  
The water from the kitchen tap is lukewarm at best. The light switch must be in some strange place—Riku gave up on finding it in the pitch dark of 1am. He has to use a (hopefully) clean glass from the sink strainer because he doesn’t know where the proper cabinet is, either. He could’ve asked Vanitas, but that would’ve involved waking him, and he was utterly disheveled with his face halfway buried in the pillow and lips slightly parted and a little bit swollen and breathing so calmly and deeply—  
  
That wasn’t an option, after all. It was all he could do to crawl out from under the covers without making any noise.   
  
He finishes the last of the water and places the now definitely dirty glass into the sink. His eyes have only slightly adjusted to the dim light peeking through the curtains on the other side of the apartment. He can see a couch and a television over there, and what looks like a game console. The kitchen is modest, with a block of decent-looking knives beside the stove, and a magnetic strip with two or three fancier ones mounted on the wall. How big is this place, anyway? He was a little too _preoccupied_ when Vanitas had first brought him in. Honestly, he’s been lost in a maze of feelings and memories since the doors of that elevator opened and he saw Vanitas standing on the other side. Something in his heart was uncorked then. A bottle of all his love and regrets to come rushing out all at once in an overwhelming tide.  
  
He glances back towards the hallway, at nothing but a blank wall, where Vanitas sleeps on just the other side. The light is scarce and the apartment is unfamiliar. Is this even real?  
  
There’s the click of a door unlatching. The front door swings open and a light is flicked on, assaulting Riku’s adjusted eyes and making him squint.  
  
A blonde boy trudges into the apartment and drops his backpack with the most tired sigh. That expression is so alive—his eyes brighter than they used to be. Riku almost doesn’t recognize him. Five years ago, he was no better than a zombie.  
  
Ventus finally notices him out of the corner of his eye and they both freeze.  
  
Riku is suddenly _very aware_ of how strange this must look. There’s a stranger standing in the dark in Ven’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his boxers. He’s _half-naked__!_ To make matters worse! Ven doesn’t move. Does he even remember who Riku is? They weren’t distant in high school, but they weren’t _close_ either. And Vanitas would always get so angry whenever Riku interacted with Ven at all. Even when it was so clear how much the two brothers actually cared about each other. When their hurt wasn’t getting in the way.  
  
If Ven had ever needed it, or ever asked for help, Riku would’ve been there in a second. Surely Ven knows that?  
  
Ven stares at him for such a long time, tightening his grip around his house keys. But to Riku’s surprise, he doesn’t look confused or even concerned. It’s almost… “Riku?” Ven chances, his voice hopeful.  
  
He tries to swallow his unease, but his mouth has gone dry. So much for his glass of water. “Hey, Ven.” His smile is fluttering. This is so awkward. _Why_ did he not put on a shirt before fumbling his way in here in the dead of the night?  
  
Ven moves with quick steps and pulls him into a hug.  
  
What?  
  
“What took you so long?” he mutters.  
  
This is more than unexpected. “Sorry,” Riku says like a reflex.  
  
“It’s been years.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m so sorry.” And it’s so ludicrous that Riku can only make a confused noise. “You were left in the dark about everything. I wanted to tell you what was going on before we left, but I didn’t know how to find you… You stopped coming to school and Vani never told me where you lived and he wouldn’t wake up I was _so scared _that he was dying—I didn’t know what to do anymore I—”  
  
“Ven,” he blurts, holding the shaking boy by his shoulders. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.”   
  
He takes a few slow breaths to calm himself down. “But you deserved to know. I _wanted_ you to know. Vani didn’t abandon you. It wasn’t by choice.”  
  
Riku wants to say that he never thought it was, but it wouldn’t be true. After the initial sting, the bitterness really set in. His stupid teenage brain had convinced itself that Vanitas and Ventus ran away. That they’d left without a word or second thought for him. That Vanitas had finally, truly had enough, and didn’t even bother to say goodbye. To spite their grandfather. To spite _him_. It was an abandonment and an attack.  
  
Thankfully, those feelings only lasted for a year. How embarrassing would it be if he still felt that way, all these years later? “I know it wasn’t,” he assures. “You had no control over it. None of us did.”   
  
“Sorry, I just,” Ven rubs his face with his hands. He looks exhausted. What is he doing coming home at 1am, anyway? “I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long, and between classes and clinic hours—I’m really stressed out.”  
  
Riku shrugs. “I figured there had to be a good reason for you to hug the shirtless stranger standing in your kitchen in the middle of the night.”  
  
“That’s true,” he snickers. “Why _are_ you shirtless?” Riku only has time to give him a look before Ven holds up his hands. “Actually, never mind. I don’t wanna know.”   
  
“Right.”  
  
“Just, uh… keep it down, yeah? I’ve got class at 9.”  
  
Riku snorts. “Please. Van was unconscious before we even got to the good part.”  
  
Ven covers his mouth to dampen the noise of explosive laughter. It’s a sound Riku has never heard from Ventus before. “Oh yeah?” he gasps.  
  
“Snoring and everything.” An exaggeration. Vanitas will definitely kill him if he ever finds out about that lie.  
  
But Ven seems to realize its a joke, and shows a small grin. “Give him a break. He’s been pretty busy too.”  
  
Riku wishes he already knew that, but there wasn’t a lot of room for talking once they escaped the elevator. They were lost in the past, and the “present day” part was pushed back for later.  
  
Ven stretches, and yawns deeply. “Don’t take it personally, but I’m exhausted. So we’ll talk later, shirtless stranger.”  
  
“Sure,” he chuckles. Was this always Ven’s sense of humor? Riku had no idea. It’s surreal. So much has changed. It’s like he’s meeting Ventus for the first time.   
  
Actually, maybe he is.  
  
–  
  
Riku makes his way into the kitchen at a more reasonable hour the next morning, taking care to throw on a shirt beforehand. Vanitas is already up, pouring two mugs of coffee from a french press by the sink. His tank top showcases scars along his shoulders that Riku still knows by heart. The unruly shape of his hair, and the soft tapping of his foot on the floor—in time to whatever song is playing in his head… He’s still the same Vanitas. It doesn’t feel quite real.   
  
Riku reaches out, fingertips barely brushing the nape of Vanitas’s neck and tracing the slope of his shoulder.  
  
Vanitas doesn’t flinch. He curls into the touch. “’Bout time.”  
  
“Good morning to you, too,” Riku chuckles.   
  
He grins from over his shoulder, and Riku can’t help but lean in and kiss that dumb smirk off of his face. Vanitas laughs and hands him one of the coffee mugs. He’s already added a splash of cream—just enough for color. He still remembers.   
  
They sit at the kitchen table. No food; just coffee. The morning is bright and quiet.  
  
Vanitas drums his fingers on the tabletop—not in a bored or anxious way, but simply because he can.  
  
Riku listens to that beat, steady in the silence. He watches soft lips curl over the rim of the coffee mug. Hair that’s even more mussed up than usual because of the early hour. Bright eyes like sunbeams through honey. Riku sits there on the other side of the table and watches Vanitas move and live and breathe, and a wildfire ignites in his chest. It’s so burning. He can’t breathe. His hands are aching to touch that skin. To feel the ridges of his spine and uneven scar tissue.  
  
He’s completely lost his mind. He’s no better than he was five years ago. He’s still so useless. Still so absolutely crazy about Vanitas that he can’t think straight.  
  
He should tell him that.  
  
Riku’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He has no words to say. Sure, there’s a _feeling_, but what is he supposed to _say_? How could he possibly explain something so overwhelming and terrifying?  
  
Vanitas meets his staring eyes, and that dark smirk takes over his face.   
  
Riku almost falls out of his chair. His voice is failing. He’s so _useless_. Hasn’t he had years to put these words together? His stupid heart is still seventeen—all nervous and fumbling. Afraid of shattering whatever fragile semblance of what they once had. But that’s ridiculous. He should tell Vanitas everything. Everything that he should’ve said before. Everything that he still needs to say now! They never had many serious conversations when they were younger. If they did, then maybe they could’ve fared a little better.  
  
Maybe that’s why he can’t speak now. It feels wrong. But they already decided that it wouldn’t be the same. He has to be better. He needs to _say it already!_  
  
His chest clenches tight. He picks his phone up from the table. A filter. Useless coward.  
  
He starts simple, sending a message to the number Vanitas gave him just yesterday: (After all this time, my feelings haven’t changed at all.)  
  
Vanitas raises an eyebrow as his phone chimes. He reads the message on the screen and rolls his eyes. But that _smile_. “_Really_?” he snorts.  
  
Riku hides his own grin behind his coffee mug. (I’m glad I finally found you.)  
  
“God, you’re such a sap.”  
  
“Maybe.” He has a slow sip of coffee and thumbs another message. (But it’s easier to type these things than saying them out loud, don’t you think?)   
  
Vanitas stares down at his screen, lips pulling into a frown. He’s not offering anything. His free hand traces the rim of his mug a few times. Then he freezes as thought takes over, and types something into the phone. The ellipsis floats promisingly on Riku’s end of the message. Vanitas pauses and narrows his eyes. Backspace. The ellipsis disappears.  
  
Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just not easy to say certain things. Through text or otherwise.   
  
Vanitas types again, and the bubbly ellipsis returns. He doesn’t look pleased when he finally hits send: (You’re the only reason I’m still here.)  
  
And that idea is still unbelievable. (That had nothing to do with me. That was all you.)  
  
(I had to walk away or nothing would ever change.)  
  
(I’m proud of you.)  
  
(I’m sorry) There’s a soft clatter. Riku glances up from the screen and finds Vanitas with his head in his hands. His phone sits abandoned beside his mug of coffee. “For everything.” And his voice is so weak and just above a whisper and so _disjointed_ from his typical bravado that it strangles Riku’s words into silence. He reaches across the table without thinking and grabs Vanitas’s arm. His fingers trace the bend and up towards his face, to hands that are knotted in messy black hair. He beckons them into his own. Pries them from Vanitas’s skull.   
  
“Me, too.” Their hands close tightly around one another. Now, finally, these feelings that have lived in his chest for so long—for five empty years—can be set free. “I used to take a lot of my frustration out on you. I’ve spent so long analyzing every argument. Everything I did wrong, what I should’ve done, or how I could’ve fixed it.”  
  
“You spend too much time in your head,” Vanitas’s laugh is quiet and mirthless.  
  
Riku’s smile is likewise empty. “It kills me, knowing who I used to be and absolutely hating him.”  
  
Another bitter laugh. Fingers tighten even more. “Well, I loved him.”  
  
“Miraculously,” he smirks.   
  
“I hated him sometimes, too. My life back then was… very hot-and-cold.”  
  
“I can’t imagine.”  
  
“I don’t know if I’ve spent all this time trying to get away from who I was, or just the situation. I try to not think about it too much. It’s behind me now.”   
  
“I don’t blame you for anything. You had no control over it. I was supposed to be your support, but—”  
  
“I took advantage of that.”  
  
“I didn’t mind,” Riku insists. Vanitas gives him a look. He doesn’t believe it. “I mean it. I was… bitter sometimes, but I didn’t hate it.” He actually liked that Vanitas relied on him so much. Relished it, even. Being needed and wanted and important… Vanitas was the only one who could give him that. He certainly didn’t get it at home. But he understands why Vanitas doesn’t believe him now. All the times Riku would throw it back into his face during an argument… It was such a cheap shot, but an easy and effective one. If Riku was angry enough, and wanted to really harm him, it was the best way. It makes him sick to think about it. To attack the very foundation of their relationship because he was annoyed. If he could just go back and knock some sense into his fifteen-year-old self, maybe the two of them wouldn’t be sitting here with so many scars. Literal or otherwise.  
  
Vanitas stares down into his coffee. He doesn’t let go of Riku’s hands. “It’s fine if you hated it, because I did. I still do.” Riku only tilts his head. “I relied on you too much. I hated how weak I was. I hated it all…” His grip tightens. He can’t say any more. He looks so small, hunched over in his chair with his shoulders dropped low. Riku has the sudden urge to pull him across the table and into his arms, coffee mugs and decency be damned.  
  
He decides to use his words instead. Useless as they are. “You were a victim, Van. It’s not your fault.”  
  
Breath catches hard in his throat. He reclaims his hands and puts his head down on the table, arms covering it like a pathetic shield. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”  
  
“That’s fair.”  
  
“It’s over with, anyway.”  
  
“It is. We got through it.”  
  
“I don’t want to turn back into that person,” he says into the table, and Riku doesn’t have a good response for that.  
  
So he takes a slow drink of coffee to cover it up. It’s cold already.  
  
Vanitas twists and untangles his arms, looking over at Riku without lifting his head. Waiting for an answer.  
  
“You’re not him anymore,” Riku assures. “You’re better than him.”  
  
Vanitas stays quiet. He prods his own mug with his finger, pushing it along the table an inch or two, assessing its weight or contents or silly owl pattern that is so clearly Ven’s.   
  
Riku takes his silence as an answer. He really doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Coffee’s cold.”  
  
He laughs softly through his nose. “Yeah.” Then he leans up, shoving his half-empty mug even farther away. “It was shit coffee, anyway.”  
  
“Good to know you spare no expense for me.”  
  
“You got coffee, didn’t you?” Vanitas counters.   
  
Riku chuckles into his near-empty mug. “I guess I should be grateful.”  
  
He only huffs and goes to the sink to pour out what’s left of his “shit” coffee. Riku watches his free hand tighten around the edge of the countertop, and wonders how much Vanitas is still keeping in. What does he hide because he’s ashamed? Scared of what Riku will say? What does he not want to burden anyone with? Because that’s how Vanitas has always operated. He automatically assumes he’s a burden.  
  
All of their vicious arguments come rushing back again. All the times he used Vanitas’s dependency as a weapon and an insult. Riku curses his old self. He’d go back and wring his own neck if he could. How is he supposed to convince Vanitas that he’s not a burden after all of that? What is he supposed to say? He has no words at all.  
  
It reminds him of the toughest nights. When Vanitas would be on the brink, and Riku could do nothing but hold him while he trembled and sobbed and bemoaned his existence. It didn’t happen often, he said; but Riku had his doubts on that, even then. Vanitas hated letting anyone see him in such a state. Even Riku.  
  
He remembers offering to help, but even back then, they both seemed to realize how little they could do as dumb fifteen-year-old kids in a dead-end town. Riku threatened to steal Vanitas away countless times, threatened to go after his grandfather even more, but it was all futile. They were powerless. They couldn’t do anything. They had no support but each other. Ventus walked around like a zombie. Riku’s parents only cared about an image, so appalled by their son’s choices and behavior that they basically disowned him. How is he supposed to get Vanitas to understand that Riku relied on him just as much? Did he tell Vanitas that? Did he make it known at all? He can’t remember.   
  
Maybe he didn’t. He wanted to be strong and flawless so badly that he only made Vanitas feel worthless. A stupid kid with nothing but _pride_.  
  
Riku swims through the wreckage of the past to where Vanitas stands now, hesitating by the kitchen sink with a coffee mug covered in little cartoon owls. It about time he shut his mind off. His body moves immediately. He reaches for Vanitas’s shoulder, this time with a firm, sure grip.  
  
Vanitas flinches, jerked from his thoughts, and the mug tips out of his hand and into the sink. The handle comes flying off in a clean break.  
  
Riku pulls Vanitas against him without words. They don’t need to talk about it anymore. He just needs to make Vanitas understand.  
  
A fist meets Riku’s side. “That was my favorite mug, asshole.”  
  
Oh. “Sorry,” he blurts, but doesn’t let go. “I’ll fix it.”  
  
Vanitas shakes his head, and leans into him. “I’ll get another one.”  
  
“No. It’ll be better than new. I promise.”  
  
–   


It’s 5:37am when Vanitas stumbles into the kitchen, palm glued over his mouth and tears leaving thick lines down his face. He tells himself to breathe. It doesn’t help. His head has fogged over. There’s a painful vice wrapped around the back of his skull. His throat. His chest.  
  
_Breathe!_  
  
No, he is breathing. Deep, panicked gulps of air. In and in and more and _more_. But he’s not getting anything he has to breathe but there’s not enough _air—_  
  
He slumps over the countertop, tears still falling like wreckage. Sniffling and gasping. Fear coils tightly and painfully in his chest and his heart may just leap out and run away from him. His knees give out and he sinks to the floor in a miserable pile of himself.  
  
He’s _supposed to be better_. It’s been _five years,_ for fuck’s sake! He’s supposed to be past this. _Above_ this.  
  
He can’t even manage to catch his breath. Who is he kidding? He’s a fool for thinking he could be anything other than broken. There’s no saving him. He’ll always be hastily reconstructed and weak and crumbling and a detriment to everyone around him. That dark undercurrent in his thoughts is pulling him down into the floor. It never goes away. It’ll _never go away—_  
  
This was a mistake. He’s not ready. Not good enough. He’s still too broken. His jagged edges are going to rip apart all of Riku’s progress. Vanitas is only going to drag him down. He doesn’t deserve Riku’s sanctuary, not when he can’t even wake up next to him without forgetting where and when he really is. Not when his ancient panic still so easily unearthed. Vanitas takes another shuddering breath through his hands. This runaway heartbeat has no cobwebs. It’s just as fresh as it’s always been.  
  
He can’t do this. He doesn’t deserve to try. Riku was wrong—his faith too strong. Vanitas will turn back into the person he used to be and be helpless and burdensome in Riku’s arms. Wipe out everything Riku has built because that fool is too hopeless and too forgiving and too _stubborn and good_ to let Vanitas go.  
  
He hiccups into the dark. This is pathetic. After all this time, he’s still curled into a miserable ball on the kitchen floor. He didn’t even turn on the light. Fitting for the loathsome creature he is. He doesn’t need to draw any attention. He doesn’t even want to see himself this way. Just leave it in the dark.  
  
_Worthless_. A broken mess of a human. Vanitas’s chest is caving in. He’ll never be fixed. He’ll never be better. All of his years of trying have been for nothing. He would’ve been better off jumping from the damn pier that day—  
  
“Van?” Riku’s voice, clear and quiet and velvet against Vanitas’s woes. Everything in Vanitas’s being lashes out against it. Don’t look. Don’t see.   
  
“_Don’t_,” Vanitas mutters. It’s nothing but a broken, pathetic sob.   
  
Riku doesn’t listen. That asshole never does. He just does what he wants and tries too hard. Harder than he needs to. Harder than Vanitas deserves. He’s such a—  
  
Riku sits on the floor next to him and pulls him into his lap. Strong arms hold Vanitas together while he shivers. _Stop_. Vanitas instinctively curls into that chest. Riku has only gotten taller and broader in the last five years, meanwhile Vanitas feels as though he’s still the same. He’s just as small in that embrace as he was before. Just as flighty and trembling. Riku’s hand traces smooth, soothing shapes along his back. He breathes long and deep into Vanitas’s hair. The scent of palm leaves—a shady warmth working its way into Vanitas’s bones. “Breathe,” Riku murmurs. “In and out. C’mon.” He pulls in another breath and slowly releases it. Leading by example.  
  
Vanitas tries, but he’s still panting so fast and only in he can’t—  
  
“It’s alright. Breathe out. Don’t think about it. Just breathe. Okay?”  
  
Vanitas uses every last ounce of his strength and halts his lungs.  
  
Riku buries an encouraging kiss in his hair. His forehead. The knuckles of his tear-soaked hand. This touch. This warmth. It’s his only buoy in this vast, freezing ocean.  
  
Vanitas carefully releases his breath. His heart is still running a marathon in his chest. He has to calm down. He _needs to—_  
  
“Good,” the smile is clear in his voice. Fingers travel up Vanitas’s back and cradle the base of his skull. They slip into his hair and hold him flush against Riku’s chest, where his heart thrums loud and quick and clear in Vanitas’s ears. Not calmly but not worriedly. It’s the only thing he can hear. Vanitas presses closer and breathes it in. Then out. Carefully. Slowly. “You got it.”  
  
Vanitas clings to him like a child. The tears, he realizes, are still coming. He moans into Riku’s shirt.  
  
“You got it,” he repeats, barely a whisper, and Vanitas trembles. He presses his face into the crook of Riku’s neck. It’s still sticky with tears.   
  
They stay like that for a long time, curled around each other without words. Riku lightly drags his nails across Vanitas’s scalp, through hair riddled with tangles and catches. Vanitas’s fists unclench and release the knots of Riku’s shirt he hadn’t realized he’d grabbed. His face begins to burn hot with embarrassment. But it’s not like this is the first time Riku has ever seen Vanitas have a complete fucking meltdown. He still loathes it. He’s supposed to be better, supposed to be over these.  
  
“I didn’t know you still had panic attacks,” Riku says softly through the dark.  
  
Vanitas swallows. His throat still aches with tears and snot and all the ugly parts he wishes Riku didn’t have to see. “I haven’t had one in years.”  
  
“Was it a nightmare?”  
  
“My life is a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, and Riku chuckles. Vanitas settles even closer, like he could melt into him. “No, I… I woke up and saw you and my fucking half-asleep mind thought I was back there again. It was so fast—I couldn’t…”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“I’ve never woken up next to you without having to run home or get the shit kicked out of me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I fucking hate this. It’s been five goddamned years and I’m still—” Riku’s hand clamps over his mouth.  
  
“It’s fine,” he murmurs. “You’re too hard on yourself.”  
  
Vanitas scoffs, but he can’t retort.  
  
“There’s no quick fix for anything in this world, Van. Believe me, if there was I would’ve used it on myself a long time ago.” He lays another kiss along Vanitas’s hairline. “You’ll get there. So just talk to me. I’ll listen.”  
  
He slowly wrenches Riku’s fingers away. “I can’t talk with your hand in the way, idiot.”  
  
There’s that smirk Vanitas loves so much. “I had to make you fight for it.”  
  
“I’ve fought enough,” he whispers, cupping Riku’s cheek and pulling him in. Their lips slot together perfectly, just like they always have. “I feel like I’ve done nothing but fight.”  
  
Another quick press of lips. “Is there anything I can do?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
He lays a kiss onto the corner of Vanitas’s mouth. The tip of his nose.   
  
“I’m so fucking tired of it.”  
  
His closed eyes. His temple. The delicate slip of skin behind his ear.  
  
Vanitas cranes back, not knowing whether to laugh or moan. “Knock it off.” But he’s only exposed his neck even more, and Riku’s lips leave tracks along his jaw and down his throat. The soft touch makes Vanitas shiver for an entirely different reason. A small laugh bubbles from his chest. “Fuck you. You said you’d listen.”   
  
“I am listening,” he says, and Vanitas feels hot breath on his clavicle. “I wanted to hear your laugh.”  
  
His chest throbs. “It’s ugly.”  
  
“I like it.” Riku places more kisses along his throat.  
  
His face hurts so much. He hasn’t smiled like this in so long. “Well, you have strange taste.”  
  
“Is that a bad thing?”  
  
“No,” Vanitas says, utterly breathless. “I like it.”  
  
Riku only grins against him.  
  
“You’d have to have strange taste to put up with my bullshit.”  
  
“It’s not bullshit, Van.”  
  
“But I’m,” his voice catches pitifully. Worthless. He takes a quick gulp of air. “I’m fucking trying.”  
  
“I know,” Riku insists, so sure. He pulls Vanitas closer. “I’m going to actually help you this time.”  
  
What is that supposed to mean? “You helped before.” More than he knows. Honestly, if it weren’t for Riku, Vanitas would’ve lost it a long time ago. Maybe… Vanitas should tell him that. Hands become knotted in Riku’s shirt again. “More than you know,” he forces. His voice is annoyingly tight. “I told you already. You’re the only reason I’m still here.” No, he’s already said that. That can’t be it. “I wanted… to put myself together. To repay you. For everything. But I’m worthless. I still haven’t done it. I’m still…”  
  
Riku suddenly kisses him, smothering the words before they can form.  
  
Vanitas reels back growling. “You said you’d listen.”  
  
“Until you start spouting nonsense about being worthless.”  
  
“Only after your bullshit about ‘actually helping’!”   
  
Caught. Riku sighs in defeat. He can’t argue against what’s fucking true. “Just trying is enough,” he murmurs.   
  
“What—?” Then the lights turn on and stab right into their eyes. Vanitas’s vision goes totally and painfully white. “What the fuck?” He blinks furiously, eyes watering, and finds Ventus standing in the threshold to the kitchen with his hand on the light switch. He looks so disappointed and dead tired in his monster-sized t-shirt and lounge pants.  
  
“C’mon, guys. Not in front of the coffee maker,” Ven sighs.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“It’s not even 7am and you’re making out on the kitchen floor?”  
  
Vanitas tugs Riku by the neck. “It’s called exhibitionism, Ventus. Look it up sometime.”  
  
Ven yawns loudly into his hand. “I don’t think that terminology is accurate.”  
  
“Don’t argue semantics with me at 7 in the morning,” he snaps. Ven is such a fucking nerd.   
  
Riku starts laughing. It’s a flustered, sputtering sound. “That’s not—I mean, _we’re_ not…”   
  
“Whatever. Just move. I’ve got an 8am lab,” Ven grumbles.  
  
Riku mumbles an apology that he doesn’t need to. Vanitas tries to regain his footing and hopes Ventus is too tired to notice his wobbly legs or the massive tear stain still on Riku’s shoulder. Maybe a distraction will help. “I told you that double major was gonna kill you.”  
  
Ven stumbles between them to the coffee pot. He doesn’t notice anything amiss. “I’m not dead yet.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“So I’m gonna keep fighting,” he adds, tired eyes clear and aware and staring directly at Vanitas.  
  
He knows. Fuck. Vanitas swallows the buildup in his mouth. “Yeah… me too.” Riku silently reaches over and grabs his hand. Vanitas holds on tight.  
  
–  
  
“So, is it date night, or what?” Ven asks from across the table. He’s met with nothing but two confused stares. “What? It’s Saturday. What else am I supposed to think?” They weren’t planning on just sitting here all night, were they?  
  
Vanitas crosses his arms. “What’s the day got to do with anything?”   
  
How can his brother be so hopeless? Between the two of them, _he’s_ the one with an actual, ongoing relationship. One that spans the greater part of their high school years—and he’s never considered something as innocuous as a _date_? And Riku too! What’s wrong with them? Why is Riku over here every weekend if they’re not even making a date out of it? “You two can’t be serious,” Ven drones.   
  
Vanitas glares. He doesn’t understand. But Riku leans back in his chair, some kind of thoughtful gleam appearing on his face. “Actually… I don’t think we’ve ever been on one.” Vanitas only looks at him. “A date, I mean.”  
  
He finally seems to understand. Whether or not he actually sees the _strangeness_ of it all, the world may never know. “Oh… I guess not.”  
  
How can they be so casual about this? What were they doing through all of high school? “What did you guys normally do? Back in school?”  
  
Riku shrugs. “Drive in circles.”  
  
“Get into trouble,” Vanitas adds.  
  
And Ven can only sigh. “Can’t you two be normal for a change?”  
  
Vanitas shoots him a glare, and leans onto the table. “Well, what do _normal__ couples_ do together, then?”  
  
“Uh…” He retreats into his head. “I dunno. Watch movies? Cook dinner together? That sort of thing?”  
  
“Because you’re _such an expert_,” Vanitas scoffs.  
  
“Hey—that’s what Terra and Aqua do! They’re my only benchmark for _normal_ around here!”  
  
Vanitas rolls his eyes.  
  
Riku props his chin in his hand. “You think we’re capable of being normal, Van?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” he says instantly, and Riku laughs. “But it might be worth a shot.”  
  
“Could be fun,” Riku shrugs. “We can always save the criminal activity for later, once this falls through.”  
  
“That’s true. Contingency plans are important.”  
  
Ven sets his head down. “I regret ever saying anything.”  
  
“No way—this is now your idea. It’s gonna happen.”  
  
He groans into the table.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” Riku asks.  
  
Vanitas shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.”  
  
How helpful. Ven sits back upright. “Why don’t you just do a dinner date or something? That’s classic. Hard to screw up.” Even these two fools should be able to handle that much, right?  “Besides, Vani is a pretty good cook.”  
  
This is news to Riku. “Really?”  
  
Vanitas immediately huffs: “No, not really.”  
  
“Shut up,” Ven swats his arm. “Better than me.”  
  
“A blind chimp with a hook for a hand is better than you,” he mutters.  
  
Riku starts laughing way too hard at that. Ven slumps over: “Hey—too mean.”  
  
“I’m not nice.”  
  
“I know, but you don’t have to keep reminding me,” he pouts, and Vanitas sneers at him. Jerk. It’s time to throw it back. “So, what are you gonna make?” They share another confused glance. Figures. “Vani’s curry is amazing,” he offers, immediately earning another glare from his brother. Is he embarrassed about it or something? Ven snickers into his hand. That’s even better!  
  
Riku just grins. “Okay, yeah, let’s do that.”  
  
As long as they don’t burn down the kitchen, Ven is going to count it as a win.  
  
–   
  
“Hey—hand me a bowl.”  
  
Riku stops standing idly by the stove, mesmerized by Vanitas effortlessly slicing some potatoes, and plucks a bowl from the dish strainer.  
  
Vanitas looks at the cereal bowl presented to him and sighs. “Bigger than that, idiot.”  
  
“You didn’t exactly _specify_,” Riku bites.  
  
“A _mixing_ bowl.”  
  
“That’s better,” and he goes spelunking through several cabinets before he finds the correct one. A group of bowls lay stacked like nesting dolls. Riku picks a moderately-sized one and hands it over. “Here.”  
  
“That’s more like it.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, and the cabinet door slips from his hand. It slams shut with a force, and Riku hears Vanitas flinch.  
  
Those gold eyes are wide and unblinking. “What is it?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Why are you mad?”  
  
Where did that come from? “I’m not mad.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, a tidal wave of déjà vu almost knocks him down. He remembers saying these words several times over. Years ago, Vanitas would always accuse him of being upset when he honestly wasn’t. It used to annoy him.  
  
And now, after hearing the same old response, Vanitas hesitates. He doesn’t know whether to double-down or let it go.  
  
It took a long time for Riku to figure out what was going on. It was a pattern, so it had to mean something. He’s a fool for not realizing it before it was too late. Vanitas’s volatile home life gave slamming doors such a horrible connotation. Dropping something a little too roughly, even walking a certain way, could spring his defenses. It’s such a visceral reaction. He can’t help it. But his hesitation proves that he’s working on it. Riku smiles and shows his palms. “It just slipped. It was an accident.”  
  
Vanitas gives a slow, measured breath, and goes back to chopping up some celery. “Klutz.” So he decided on letting it go.  
  
Riku stands close and leans against the counter. “Hey, you’re the one who asked for my help.”  
  
“I must be truly desperate.”  
  
“That’s your default setting,” he dismisses.  
  
“You’re aware that I’m holding a _very_ sharp knife, right?”  
  
“Yeah. I like it. Really domestic.”  
  
Vanitas points the knife at his face, but he can’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up. He can’t hide that amusement. Riku would spot it from miles away.  
  
There’s a rogue slice of celery clinging to the side of the blade. Riku can’t think of anything else to say, so he takes the piece of celery and pops it into his mouth. “Thanks.”   
  
Vanitas spares a second to stare at him, and then bursts out laughing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
“You want it chronologically or alphabetically?”  
  
He shoves Riku towards the stove, grin not fading. “Just make sure that shit doesn’t burn, you fuckhead.”  
  
“Yes, dear.”  
  
“Fuck off!” he shouts, and they’re both laughing.  
  
Riku does as he’s instructed and stirs the contents of the stockpot. It’s nothing but onions and meat and garlic, already fragrant and sizzling. Vanitas chops the vegetables with a speed and precision that Riku had no idea he was capable of. He’s already finished the celery and has moved on to the carrots. The knife taps against the cutting board in rapid fire. He has to be well-practiced. There’s no other way. He must do this more than he lets on. “Do you enjoy cooking?” Riku asks.  
  
Vanitas just shrugs. “It’s something to do.” The knife moves like an extension of his hand, but he’s so nonchalant about it. He scrapes the chopped carrots into the almost-overflowing bowl of vegetables. “I need to use my energy to _create_, or so the doctor says. It’s all bullshit, anyway,” he mumbles, clearly not believing it. “Cooking, painting… I’ve tried lots of things.”  
  
“Find anything you like?”  
  
“Not really.” He nudges Riku away from the stove, adding the vegetables to the pot.   
  
And Riku watches him, moving skillfully but without passion. Ability has no bearing on enjoyment, huh? But there’s no way Vanitas _hates_ it. He wouldn’t continue to do it, otherwise. Like he said, it’s just something to do. But Riku isn’t surprised. Vanitas never had time to develop any passions. He was too busy just trying to survive.  
  
But really, there’s only one thing Riku would ever associate with Vanitas. Riku remembers the two of them laying on a leaky air mattress in Lea’s basement, the radio turned up so loud they couldn’t hear their own thoughts. He thinks of how they would cruise the empty streets at night with the music up until it blew out the speaker on the passenger’s side. How Vanitas can never hold still, even now. How rhythm seems to flow through him like his own heartbeat. How he’s currently sauteing the vegetables in the pot like a metronome.  
  
Riku leans onto the countertop. “Have you tried music?”  
  
“Once,” Vanitas snorts. “Didn’t have the patience for it.”   
  
Honestly, that sounds right. “What did you do?”  
  
“I tried to learn sheet music, but it was taking too long. And the guitar is just… fucking complicated.”  
  
“Well, you’re more of a drummer, anyway.”  
  
Vanitas laughs. “Kind of hard to have a drum kit in an apartment building.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“Besides, music isn’t… quantifiable. It’s not something you can see and hold in your hands and say ‘I made this.’ You know? It doesn’t exist outside of you.”  
  
That’s a strangely poetic way of putting it, but Riku understands the feeling. “Yeah. You’ll figure it out.”  
  
“If you say so,” he sighs. After Vanitas spent so long surrounded by nothing but destruction, it’s no wonder he wants something tangible. Like proof of his existence. Proof he’s still alive.   
  
An urge flickers awake. Riku stands behind him, wraps his arms around that slim waist, and props his chin on Vanitas’s shoulder. He’s hunched over way too far for it to be comfortable, but he stays there.  
  
Vanitas straightens up. “What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m bored,” he lies. “Is there anything left to do?”  
  
“Just need to add the water and seasoning and let it simmer.”  
  
So nothing, really. “How long?”  
  
“Half hour or so.”  
  
“What should we do in the meantime?”  
  
“Fuck if I know,” Vanitas mutters, ire rising.  
  
“But I’m bored.”  
  
He lifts his shoulder like a jab. “What are you, four?”  
  
“Four and a half.”   
  
And Vanitas laughs. “Oh, my mistake.” Riku grins. That’s all he wanted. Vanitas keeps trying to shrug him off. “Get off me, you giant. I can’t work like this.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“You have no idea how curry works, do you?”  
  
“Sorry. I’m uncultured.”  
  
“You’re a fucking dork, is what you are. Now get off!” Vanitas twists within Riku’s arms until he’s completely turned around, but Riku barely budges. “God, you’re heavy,” he grumbles.   
  
No, Vanitas is just small. Not as small as he used to be—not by a long shot. He’s filled out since high school, gained more muscle, but he’s still such a pipsqueak. So much is still the same. Riku holds on tighter, breathing in a scent that he’d know anywhere. Holding onto the only constant thing in his life.  
  
Vanitas pokes him. “You’re terrible help.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
A sigh. “It’s no fun when you don’t bite back.”  
  
Yeah. Probably not. But Riku can’t seem to get his mind to focus on anything other than the boy in his arms.  
  
“Come on. You’ll have plenty of time to be a blubbering sap later. We actually have _time_, you know.” His voice tightens. There’s no way Riku would miss that. “So let’s finish this before it burns. I’ve put in too much work to waste it.”  
  
The sizzling of the stockpot comes permeating back through his senses. Riku finally takes a step back. “Right.”  
  
Vanitas slides to the sink, drawing several cups of water and dumping them into the stockpot until it’s almost full. Riku goes back to just watching him work.  
  
“That’s a lot of curry,” he remarks.  
  
Vanitas shrugs. Maybe it doesn’t seem like a lot to him.  
  
It smells amazing, though. God _damn_ it does. And thirty of the longest minutes of his life later, Riku knows that Ven wasn’t lying or exaggerating at all. It is amazing. A little on the spicy side, though. Riku’s barely made a dent in his bowl before he feels his cheeks burning red.  
  
Vanitas cackles and teases him from across the table, but Riku doesn’t mind it. He truly doesn’t.  
  
–  
  
Ven walks in for his second cup of coffee and finds Vanitas by the table, wearing a hoodie he doesn’t recognize. It’s navy with plaid and yellow accents. Ven could tell it was Riku’s before he even noticed how it threatened to swallow Vanitas whole. It’s practically falling from his shoulders.  
  
He’s holding his phone in the air at a high angle, camera out, trying to get a good shot, and scowling when he doesn’t.  
  
“What are you doing?” Ven asks.  
  
“Dumbass left his jacket here,” he shrugs, deleting the last photo and trying again. “I’m just claiming lost property.”  
  
That’s… kind of cute, actually. Ven hides his smile behind his hand. “I see.”  
  
Vanitas clicks his tongue as the camera shutter sounds. “How do people do this? This is stupid. My arm’s falling asleep.”  
  
“Don’t ask me,” Ven chuckles.  
  
He tries a few more shots as Ven refills his coffee mug. Eventually, Ven hears the telltale tapping of the keyboard and the message swoops away. To Riku, he assumes.  
  
Vanitas is ginning at the screen. He seems almost giddy with anticipation, comfortably drowning in a hoodie that is not his. Ven has a sip of his coffee. The scene before him his downright surreal. “Hey, Vani?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You look happy.”  
  
And his grin blooms into something else. An honest, full-fledged _smile._ Ven has never seen his brother look like this. Never in his life. He didn’t know Vanitas could shine like the sun. “You think so?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
There’s a chime from Vanitas’s phone. A response, probably. He opens it immediately.  
  
Riku’s voice comes from the phone in a short burst. Must be some kind of social media thing. “Yeah. Go ahead and keep it. It looks better on you, anyway.”  
  
There’s that smile again. The smile Vanitas always deserved. He holds the phone up once more, tugging on his lapel and talking into the camera: “It’ll look even better on the floor.”  
  
That’s so lame Ven almost chokes on his coffee. These two are going to make him sick. He just knows it.   
  
–   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will go down with this ship.
> 
> I decided at some point that pt. 3 was going to take place within a single setting, like a callback to pt. 1 being entirely within an elevator. I don’t know why I do the things I do. But it certainly added something. Ven and Vani’s kitchen is a surprisingly busy place!
> 
> Curry rice is fucking amazing, by the way. (Actually. All curry is amazing.)
> 
> Let it be known that this was not easy to write. These two idiots. They’ll sass each other all day, but actually talking and being open and functional?? Pulling teeth. 
> 
> @VaniVeniVici


End file.
